


Es wird nie mehr sein, wie es war

by Shirohime



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels are Dicks, Backstory-ish, Big Brother Michael, Cas and the moon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Fledgling Cas, Gen, Heaven, Mentioned agoraphobia, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rescue, Selective mute Cas - Freeform, mentioned Destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirohime/pseuds/Shirohime
Summary: The story of the littlest angel and why Dean Winchester has always been designed to be his human.





	Es wird nie mehr sein, wie es war

**Author's Note:**

> Es wird nie mehr sein, wie es war (German) =It will never again be as it was before

Angels were meant to be strong and brave, wings as effective weapons as the blades of silver molded for each of them. 

They were soldiers, impressive and infuriating at all times, ready to fight at the order of God. 

Then God left and everything fell into shambles. 

Angels weren't meant for emotions, they didn't know how to handle the power of their own freedom, more often than not turning against each other with fear filled eyes and confused minds, wings spread wide and twitching insecure. 

There was only one angel hatching after the Father had left. 

The fledgling was called an abomination, outcasted by his own mother as soon as his true feathers grew in - ink black swallowing the shimmering pearl white of most other wings. 

And nobody noticed for a long (well, long by human standards) time. 

Uriel had been awoken into an archangel to help Raphael and Michael rule and soothe the gaping wound heaven mentally was, but not even three archangels were capable of taking care of everything properly. 

More often than not they were so busy that all the seraphim saw were the glistening,fleeting shimmer of silver tawny and white wings as their mightiest rushed to keep heaven from falling apart at the seams. 

So nobody even looked twice at the littlest angel who walked around with mangled wings and a clouded, way too serious, look in the bluest eyes in existence - only rivaled by Michael's own. 

He hadn't been named or taught how to speak, hadn't been deemed worth even feeding so the black-winged angel grew scrawny and so so slow. 

When his mother came home he made sure he wasn't there, having learned early on that only venom and hate dripped from the lips of this stone cold woman. 

But he didn't miss love. He didn't think it was possible to love him, or for him to love anyone, seeing how horribly misshapen and out of place he was. After all he was the only angel born without God there and that could only mean he was worth less than the dirt shriveling under the sun down on earth, right?

Heaven hadn't grown less hectic by the time the littlest angel found out about the moon. 

He'd find himself sitting on the rocky surface of the lifeless planet for quite some time to watch these weird wingless beings on earth. 

The other angels didn't talk to him - nobody even acknowledged his existence on good days, beating and breaking him bloody on bad ones - but he had heard them call the wingless things 'humans', the reason why Lucifer had been banished and Gabriel had left. The reason God left. 

The littlest angel couldn't find it in himself to truly agree with the fallen angel. 

These humans seemed so...vivid. He'd watch them laugh and be so incredibly strong despite their fragile forms - most of the angels called them useless mud monkeys. 

For a long while it was only him, only his black wings for once calm sitting on the moon just watching humanity develop. 

So long, in fact, that the youngest angel became quite fond of them, their ability to laugh despite their miserably short and pain-filled lives. 

One day came where the littlest angel was no longer alone. 

Black and battered feathers rustling in fear of who could've found out about his safe spot - his only solace -, big blue eyes scanned the grey surface finding nobody he'd ever expect. 

Silent and radiating calm there stood Michael. 

The seraph and archangel almost looking identical color-wise except for the blinding soft silver of wings opposing the light swallowing black of the other.

Blue eyes locked into each other for a timeless moment, fear in one and an eternal apology emitted into the low gravity of earth's silent follower. 

"Castiel. My name is Michael", the taller angel started, voice thick with unshed tears and a hint of uncertainty.

The littlest angel was shocked to say the least; so much in fact that despite having been beaten for it he cocked his head to one side in confusion. 

The name spilling of his archangel's lips vibrated with recognition within his very own grace, the soul-like energy shaking with 'yes, please, that's me, that's my name'. 

Three pairs of silver wings folded calmly behind the elder's back and it sent Castiel into a panic induced frenzy. Was he supposed to vocally reply? Was he being made fun of? He couldn't tell but the obvious strength difference frightened him, eyes going dark and glassy with suppressed fear of surely surely being beaten again.

Instinctively black feathers wrapped around his broken body - always healing, never healed - trying to protect what little he could. 

The anticipated strike of pain never came. 

"Castiel I am not here to inflict any more pain on you. I must apologize for being blind, for getting lost in the forest when our youngest was struggling so obviously. It is my purpose to look out and fight for the weak ; to lend them my strength when they are hurt and I failed to deliver that to you. You are not expected to accept my apology or forgive any of us for mutilating you. All I ask is for you to trust my word that I will not let anyone harm you ever again - not in heaven nor on earth, purgatory or hell. Please accept my offer of protection until the end of time. "

The words sang through the silence, dancing around Castiel's head, making him flinch before he could fathom their meaning. 

It felt like something inside him was cracking, breaking from holding so much together when it wasn't even supposed to and small hands shook with sobs as emotions ran over the littlest angel's heart. 

The angel barely reached to Michael's chest, growth slowed by neglect both physically and emotionally.

The archangel's grace flood out to soothe the distressed fledgling, pure intent laying clear atop as to not inflict fear. 

Michael had no idea what their brothers had done to the youngest but it couldn't be easily healed seeing as all of them were made to hurt and fight for a race not all of them even wished to exist. 

Lost in thought and regret he didn't register the kid closing up on him with a clear call for comfort but unable how to even ask for it. 

With a sad smile the archangel pulled his youngest brother in a tight hug, just holding Castiel as he sobbed and basically bathed in the display of affection. 

 

___________

 

Castiel didn't talk. Not when Michael explicitly gave him permission to do so, not when an answer required more than a shake or nod of unruly black hair.

Castiel didn't leave Michael's house. Not when asked to, not when it seemed like his wings just ached for flight. 

Castiel didn't do much at all, though it was obvious what little trust was left in him he gave to Michael. 

The oldest archangel had taken on the role of Castiel's guardian, effectively calling out and punishing those who had hurt their brother the most but unable to find all of them. 

Michael tried to make sure to spend all his free time with the 12 year old looking seraph, on earth he would've been over a couple thousand years old already and only time would tell if the damage could ever be reversed. 

It had taken a few years for the archangel to gain enough trust to touch the other's wings to groom and straighten broken bones as fragile as those of a bird. 

It was clear that Castiel hadn't gotten enough nutrients growing up, his bones easier to shatter - his body almost as weak as the one of a human - but given a good ten thousand years it should balance out, if Raphael was correct. 

In fact, Michael had abandoned a lot of his chores in order to make sure the littlest angel got as much affection as possible (No other angel was even able to get within sight of Castiel without the kid freezing in absolute panic). 

The black-winged seraph grew quickly under Michael's care, a perfect example of the loyal soldier the archangel himself had been in his early days. 

But emotionally Castiel was more than shattered.

Even when his body has caught up to his age and Michael's mere present didn't make him flinch he would only talk when absolutely no other option was available. He would refuse to leave the safety of Michael's piece of heaven and overall never showed any of the silly, joyful side the other angels had been as fledglings.

It was concerning but Michael still looked at his little charge with soft blue eyes, just happy that at least now Castiel wasn't alone anymore.

When humanity evolved their telescopes, the archangel taught Cas how to hide in plain sight and surprisingly the youngest angel became so good at it that not even Michael's grace could detect him unless he wanted to be found.

On rare occasions - once every hundred years - Cas would manage a smile of gratitude even though his eyes wouldn't lit up as carelessly as they could.

The brothers spent so much time together their appearances sort of melted into one, only slight differences and Castiel's muteness uncovering who was who. 

They'd become grace-bound like Michael had been with Lucifer before the fall. 

Castiel's wings even took on a silver shimmer in the moonlight. 

All of these things that they experienced together, knitting them into a well-oiled holy being, all of this knowledge about Castiel and Michael decided that he would make the littlest angel a soulmate. 

A human mate with scars on his soul much like Cas' own. With everything he knew Cas was fond of. Green eyes the color of the apples in the Garden in summer, freckles on tanned skin much like those little insects - bees, he remembered their name to be - the black-winged angel enjoyed watching for years on end.

With hair of caramel and honey and the strongest, purest soul since Cain and Abel.

Determined Michael went to find his Father.

 

On January 24th, 1979, Dean Winchester was born into a world that'd break him in preparation to fix the littlest angel of heaven. 

**Author's Note:**

> I just have this day dream going on about good big brother Michael (looking like young John) saving the youngest angel.  
> I've spun this from nothing, but I like it.   
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, merry Christmas to all of you ❤️


End file.
